Wonderful, Wonderful!
by dreaming.in.sepia
Summary: Patrick and Shelagh's life together after the wonderful Series 2 finale, starting with their wedding and moving on through their honeymoon and everything that follows. Slightly AU in that Nonnatus still exists (I'm in denial). Credit for the cover to droppedoutofthesky.
1. Chapter 1

**This will hopefully be a multi-chapter fic, depending on the response to this chapter and the next one (which I am writing) These are essentially my fangirl dreams, so I hope you enjoy them (but I hope even more that they come true!). If you want to, then please review - any comments/criticism gladly received.**

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It seemed that half of Poplar wanted to come to the wedding. The chapel could only hold so many though, so pride of place was given to the Sisters and Nurses, as well as the few family members that remained on either side. Outside was a different matter. The corner outside Nonnatus House was packed with well wishers, and the streets were lined with hordes of people: families carrying confetti, young mothers and old standing together with children running between their legs, and, right by the front door, the Cub Scouts. They were getting ready for another performance and trying not to look too bored while they waited for the happy couple to emerge. This time the song had been chosen by one of their own and, unfortunately, there would be no costumes or playfighting (although Fred had liberally – and unwisely - given out confetti for them to throw). Jenny Lee looked out from one of the windows at the crowds and couldn't help beaming. The happy couple would be amazed when they saw how much they were loved, she was sure, and no one deserved such happiness more. There was a quiet cough behind her, and she turned to see Shelagh standing in front of her, holding her arms out.

"Do you think I'll look acceptable?" she asked shyly.

Neither Jenny, Cynthia nor Trixie could get any words out. All three stood there, jaws slack, trying to understand the transformation. It was a simple and understated dress, but all the more beautiful for it. Plain white satin, with a high neck and long sleeves. The skirt had no long train, and didn't flare out significantly at the waist. But the embroidery worked over the bodice and the lace cuffs gave it another layer of beauty entirely. There were intricate patterns in the shapes of hearts and vines, as well as sweetheart roses hidden within, hinting at something deep and hidden for those who cared to look. The lace on the sleeves had been made generations ago by hardy Scottish women, always intended for a dress and woman as beautiful as this. Whether they would have anticipated that she was a former Nun in East End London was more doubtful.

After what seemed an eternity, it was Trixie who finally broke the almost holy silence, with more than a hit of tears in her voice.

"Oh Shelagh, you look – beautiful!" she sighed.

Shelagh blushed. "Thank you, it was my mother's dress. I never thought I would wear it myself."

"How could you have worn that habit for so long? You have such a wonderful figure you know."

Raising her eyebrow, Shelagh replied "I don't think the intention of habits is to show off someone's "figure", Trixie."

It was Trixie's turn to blush. "I know, but...well."

Cynthia, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, smiled at Trixie's rare abashment. "You look just like Grace Kelly when she married her Prince."

"In a way, I...feel I am" said Shelagh, quietly.

Before the three nurses could pester her more, there was a knock on the door.

"If you three don't go and get ready now, you won't get out until the reception, and I can't promise to save you any cake!"

"Coming Sister Evangelina!" they chorused, and slipped out of the room leaving Shelagh alone with her mirror and only their whispers of good luck and a hug from Cynthia.

She stared at the mirror in front of her and adjusted her glasses, thinking hard. It had not been so long ago since she gazed at it with a very different expression. She well remembered those days of fear and loss –like a gaping hole with one safety net, which didn't seem strong enough to support her. The Nurses always seemed to be enjoying themselves and living freely, and she had become so trapped in the convent; the rituals began to lose the comfort they had always held for her, and finally she lost sight of the path she had tried so hard to stick to. Her habit felt constrictive, her faith was shaking – yet still she held on. Even when she fell in love with Dr Turner, for a long time she forced herself to deny it. Nuns don't fall in love with Doctors, and she had so wanted to be a true Nun. But then had come that one day when he had taken her hand, and since then she'd known deep down what she needed to do. It scared her, certainly, and the looks of shock when she told the Nurses her plans were almost enough to make her falter, but this was her path. Ordained by God to be followed by her. It was a way of love, and in that she would find strength. Her eyes blazed with it today: with love, and hope, and - something missing for so long – happiness.

There was another knock at the door.

"Shelagh, my dear, may I come in?"

"Of course!" she smiled, and turned round, adjusting her glasses shyly.

Sister Julienne came in slowly, dressed in her traditional habit (specially washed and pressed for the occasion). She carried a bouquet, which she had been given the honour of preparing. Shelagh and Patrick wanted to keep everything simple, and so she willingly obliged them - but remembering her mother's advice to her in her youth before her own path was clear, had carefully selected the flowers to symbolise the true love between them. When she'd thought of her own wedding in those days, this was the bouquet she had dreamed of, and it seemed perfect for the happy couple today. There was Lily of the Valley, for sweetness and humility, Orange Blossom for tradition, White Phlox for united souls and Honeysuckle for devoted affection. She hoped sincerely that the prophesies made by the flowers would come true - but having seen the couple together she could have no real doubt of it. Julienne passed the bouquet over to the bride, who sniffed and wiped away a tear.

"Oh Sister, it's perfect" she whispered.

"As are you today, my dear."

Shelagh reverentially placed her bouquet on the table under her mirror and turned back to face her again. Before Julienne could question it, she carefully knelt, lifting the dress off the floor as she did so.

"Would you give me your blessing Sister? I know you'll give it again later, but I would greatly appreciate it."

Sister Julienne, overwhelmed with emotion, gave the blessing as well as she could. Then, before she knew it, Shelagh was hugging her tightly.

"Thank you so much for everything you've done for me."

"You are like a daughter to me my dear. I will always help you with whatever path you need to take. I am honestly glad that God spoke to you truly and you didn't go to Chichester. It would have been a great loss to Poplar – and an even greater one to your Doctor. You three will be very happy together." Sister Julienne could go no further. The tears were coming thick and fast, and she could only hold Shelagh tight and pray for her. Finally, they heard another knock at the door, and Sister Evangelina poked her head around again, smiling at what she saw.

"Everyone is ready."

"Then we must go." Julienne smiled, wiping her tears and straightening her cross. Shelagh pulled her veil into place again and carefully straightened it in the mirror, making sure the antique lace wasn't twisted or fraying. Having done so, she picked up the bouquet, closed her eyes briefly for a second to pray silently, and turned to the door.

"I'm ready."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on Chapter 1, I'm so glad people like it. Normally it would take me longer to try and write the next bit, but I couldn't resist this time! I did take the liberty of giving one character a name and deciding on Shelagh's surname - but hopefully they're not too left of centre. Again, I hope you enjoy - and please feel free to review!**

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This was not the first time that Dr Turner had stood at an altar. It seemed a lifetime ago today, the last time he had done so, waiting for his first wife – his Moira – to join him there. He remembered it well: family gathered around the two of them afterwards to congratulate the happy couple, her dark hair contrasting with the pure white of her dress, and the sheer nerves that he felt until the ring slipped itself onto her finger (he'd nearly dropped it). For years he missed her – the comforting presence, the smiles, the understanding. He had thought at her death that she could never be replaced, that he would never find another Moira. And, he reflected to himself, he hadn't. He didn't need to anymore. Moira belonged to another part of his life, a time long gone. It was a time he would always remember and treasure – but it was a time he had left behind. He no longer needed to search for Moira in the world when he had something equally if not more precious – Shelagh. And today, he felt no nerves.

Mendelssohn began playing suddenly, the notes ringing through the chapel. The doors opened slowly and three bridesmaids in blue entered. It had, in the end, been the easiest decision to make. Being a Nun for ten years meant that Shelagh's social circle was somewhat limited – and anyway, she couldn't have denied them this pleasure. Wearing short sleeved baby blue dresses, their skirts flaring out as they sprinkled flowers on the cold stone floor, Trixie, Jenny and Cynthia walked down the aisle. All three of them were beaming from ear to ear, as were most of the congregation. Chummy, Peter and Freddie sat on the front row, wearing their assorted Sunday best. Chummy had agonised over whether to being Freddie or not, but in the end it was Patrick who had persuaded her.

"It was through children that we met, and I would be honoured if you would bring your son to our wedding. If he cries, he cries. But I know it would mean a lot to Shelagh to have all her friends there – and she's always loved looking after him."

Chummy had been moved to tears, and promised him that Freddie would be just spiffing (and in case he wasn't, she'd brought his favourite comforter and a new hand knitted elephant toy). Jane and her Reverend sat next to the happy family, unconsciously holding hands as they watched contented. Behind them were Sisters Evangelina and Monica Joan. If anyone had asked, Sister Evangelina would have blamed her allergies for the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes – but no one was brave enough to ask, and everyone knew the truth. On the other side of the Chapel sat their assorted family. This had been a more difficult matter – Shelagh's mother had died when she was very young, and her father when she was 18. No other close relatives remained. For Patrick, there was an elderly maiden aunt on his mother's side, and an aunt and uncle on his father's. His first wife's family still lived of course, but he had felt uncertain at inviting them. Eventually he asked Moira's sister, always his favourite relative of hers, hoping that she would see the gesture as one of goodwill. She seemed to have understood, and brought her husband and young daughter. The three bridesmaids sat in front of them as they reached the top of the aisle. And then, for the first time, he saw the vision of his bride walking towards him.

Shelagh had agonised over her "something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue". The something old was her dress, of course, and the something new was the veil she bought to go with it. But for blue and borrowed, she had had more difficulty. One evening over tea she had confessed this to the other Nurses - it seemed such a trivial thing to worry about, and she didn't truly believe it would bring her luck. Still, tradition could be a powerful force. The something blue, in the end, came from Chummy.

"It was my mother's, and her mother's before that" She explained, handing over the enamel hairpin. "I wore it to my own wedding as well. I know it all seems superstition, but it did make me feel jolly lucky!"

Shelagh thanked her profusely, but there was still the question of something borrowed. Until, just a week before the wedding, Sister Julienne had asked her into her office for a "quick talk". Once she entered, the Sister quickly and quietly shut the door and pulled out a suitcase from under her desk. Before Shelagh could question further, she opened it and carefully removed a jewellery box, handing it over to the awestruck nurse.

"I couldn't help overhearing the other say that you were having difficulty finding your something borrowed. This necklace was give to me on my 18th birthday, and I have not had occasion to wear it for a very long time. If you would do me the honour of borrowing it for your wedding, I would be very happy indeed."

Shelagh found it difficult to see through the tears, but promised to wear it on her wedding day with pride. And so, now, as she walked down the aisle towards him, the necklace glimmered modestly, the diamonds catching the light as she moved. It was a simple silver chain, with a small cluster of gems as a circular pendant, but somehow it perfectly accentuated her small neck. Patrick found himself unable to breath as she came closer, lit up from the inside with love. She seemed to glow, despite the poor light from the windows, and it was as though an angel was coming towards him. He would have knelt then and there in awe, but some stronger force stopped him and he couldn't move a muscle. Then suddenly she was next to him, and he could only stare at her – and she at him. They were lost in their own world, and everyone around them was caught up in the magic too. It took a loud sniff from Sister Evangelina (trying and failing to stem the flow of tears) to jolt the Vicar into beginning the service.

"In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of Patrick Turner and Shelagh McDonald," he began, earning another sniff from Sister Evangelina.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" came next. Having no male relatives, this had originally posed a difficult question for Shelagh. Eventually though, only one name had seemed right – and thankfully, she'd agreed.

"I do" said Sister Julienne, clasping Shelagh's hand tightly as she watched her young charge's face glow with joy.

"Patrick Turner, will you take Shelagh McDonald to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will" he replied.

"Shelagh McDonald, will you take Patrick Turner to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

"I will" she said softly.

They made it through the vows with no mistakes, and after a hymn ("Before the Ending of the Day"), the Vicar turned to them again.

"Heavenly Father, by your blessing, let _these rings_ be to _Patrick_ and _Shelagh_ a symbol of unending love and faithfulness, to remind them of the vow and covenant which they have made this day through Jesus Christ our Lord. May I have the rings?"

Timothy stepped forwards, proudly carrying the cushion on which rested two silver wedding bands. His hair was smart and combed, his suit was starched, and there was not a button out of place. Beaming, he held them out to the Vicar, who picked the smaller of the two and handed it to Patrick.

It was simple – a thin silver band with a slight ridge around the outside – but it suited her style. He slid it onto her finger, up next to the diamond engagement ring, and held her hand. He repeated the vows, but before the Vicar could move onto his own ring, he held Shelagh's hand up to his lips and kissed it again. His own ring was placed, with Shelagh holding his hand just as softly as he had held hers. And then, after so long waiting, came the words he had dreamed of.

"I therefore proclaim you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

As blasphemous as it seemed to be kissing a former nun in the chapel of her former convent, he did it anyway, and she kissed him back with all of her love. And for that moment, he felt truly heaven blessed.

The cries on the street as the happy couple emerged were almost deafening. Together they had saved so many lives in this small corner of the East End, and people wanted to show their love any way that they could. And so it was that, as the double doors opened and they stepped out, the crowd of Scouts stood at attention and began to sing at Fred's signal.

"I feel the glow of your unspoken love, I'm aware of the treasures that I own. And I say to myself, it's wonderful, wonderful. Oh, so wonderful my love!"

Shelagh turned to Patrick.

"How do they know our song?" she whispered. And then, simultaneously, they looked around to see a very happy Timothy standing behind them.

"Was I right?" he chirped up.

"Always" said his father, patting him on the head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for reading - I'm sorry this chapter has taken longer, but it got away from me a bit at first****. Hope everyone enjoys it, and please review if you have time!**

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Shelagh sang in the bath. It was (Patrick decided, after two days of married life) one of the things that he loved the most about her. Her voice was almost melting as she crooned the latest ballads from the wireless, hummed overtures from her favourite operas, or sometimes just sang the soprano of the peaceful hymns of the convent. He could sit outside the door for hours, just listening to her – and he became known for being late to leave the house because of his inability to drag himself away. He didn't tell her for a while, of course. Shelagh could be shy about the smallest and strangest things, and he feared that if he let on, her singing would stop, or she'd try to hide it in embarrassment. He wasn't the only one who listened either. Timmy would sit in his bedroom some mornings and listen to her as he did his work, or whittled sticks, or cleaned his father's equipment (but only when he needed some money). It made them all feel at peace.

For their honeymoon, they went to Torquay. She had always wanted to see palm trees, and Patrick, for his part, just wanted to go somewhere with her. It took a great deal of convincing to persuade him to leave Poplar however, because there was nobody he could consider to take his place, even for 3 days. He felt such responsibility to his patients that the idea of leaving them with someone he didn't trust or know felt like a betrayal, and Shelagh seemed to have wave after wave of deliveries. Eventually, Trixie and Jenny forced them into the car a week after the wedding, telling Dr Turner that they'd found an old friend of his from training who had agreed to come down for the three days, and promising to keep an eye on him. Shelagh, meanwhile, was assured repeatedly that they would be fine without her – Chummy would come in to cover her shifts and Fred was more than willing to babysit Freddie while she worked. While they were away, Timmy would go any stay with his aunt and cousins in Oxford (which he secretly looked forward to).

The first night there, both of them felt at a loss without any work to do. The journey itself had been an adventure – the London to Devon train, their first for a while, then checking in to their beach side hotel. The thrill that Shelagh felt when she was addressed as "Mrs Turner" made her clutch her husband's hand a little tighter, and he smiled at her while the concierge searched for their room key. In the evening they went for a walk along the beach while eating fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, then sat on a bench watching the tide come in. Shelagh, feeling a childish thrill, slipped her shoes off and dipped her feet into the sea, laughing as the cold water brushed her ankles. Patrick, feeling supremely blessed, sat and watched her, laughing too.

Under her bed at home she kept her old suitcase – but now, instead of utility shoes and a grey serge blazer, it contained her old wooden cross. She had insistently tried to return it to Sister Julienne, but she would have none of it.

"Your faith has not changed my dear, only your path. You should keep it as a reminder that God always has a purpose for us."

Shelagh had conceded, but still kept it underneath the bed. As well as the cross, there were a few of the things that she brought to the convent all those years ago: the only photograph she had of her parents together from their own honeymoon, her mother's silver necklace, and her father's pipe. Patrick asked to see what she kept in the suitcase one evening, and she gladly showed him the few relics.

"This is the only picture I have of my parents. They were on holiday here, somewhere south. Father always said it was the warmest he ever felt, laying on that beach in summer. They saved for two years before they were married to buy a house and go somewhere warm together. I don't remember my mother ever talking about it though. But I suppose I don't really remember much about her."

Patrick watched as her eyes misted up slightly. He held her hand tighter, and felt himself awed by her strength as she sighed almost imperceptibly.

"How old were you when she died?"

Shelagh sniffed, and he handed her his handkerchief. She thanked him and bled her nose, then her head on his shoulder and looked at the photograph.

"Oh, I was only 8. It was bronchitis. She had the cough for weeks, but we didn't realise. There was no doctor near that we could afford anyway, but she wouldn't have called him even if she could. I still remember her voice though, calling me at night. And she always smelt of bread."

It was on their second day in Torquay, as she sat on the beach in a modest sundress reading Jane Eyre, that Patrick spotted it.

"Shelagh?" he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun as he turned to her.

"Patrick?" she replied, smiling.

"I don't suppose you remember where your parents went on their honeymoon?"

Shelagh pout the book on her knee and thought, a small frown appearing between her eyebrows as she did so.

"No, they never said. Father didn't anyway. Why?"

"It's just that I could swear that shop was in the background of the photograph."

Shelagh turned to look where he was pointing and gasped.

"I think you may be right. It certainly looks familiar."

"Would you like...I mean, do you think it would be a good idea if – we had our picture taken there?"

"I would like that very much."

The nurses bombarded them with questions when they returned home.

"How was the weather?" cried Jenny, as Trixie enquired after the hotel and Cynthia marvelled at the summer dress Shelagh bought from a small shop on the seafront.

They repeated the stock line to most people – lovely time, plenty of sun and rest, happy to be back home with their patients– but both of them knew it had been something more than that. And on their mantelpiece, from that day onwards, sat five pictures. One of Moira (because Shelagh thought it was important they remembered her, and Patrick didn't want Timothy to be conflicted); one of Patrick's parents (taken to send to their son studying to be a doctor, both of them poker straight, in Sunday best and glowing with pride); the photograph of Shelagh's parents on the beach (now removed from its dusty suitcase and in a silver frame); a photograph of the three of them at the wedding taken by a local man whose baby Dr Turner had delivered only the week before (girl, Emma, 6lb 10oz) – and finally the photograph of Shelagh and Patrick on the beach in Torquay, holding ice creams in the same spot her parents had been all those years before. They were looking at each other (the photographer had waited for a candid shot), and it was obvious that to the two of them, in that moment there was no one else in the world but the other.


	4. Chapter 4

For some reason, she just couldn't get the lion's head to look right. It was as Shelagh unpicked the third attempt at attaching his bright yellow and orange mane (or as bright as could be found in Poplar) that Patrick finally leaned over.

"What's the diagnosis, Nurse?" he asked, smiling at her exasperated face.

"I've tried it every which way, but his head just won't sit straight. He looks like he's either trying to wink, or having a stroke" she sighed, gazing into the black button eyes as if to get inside the mind of the stuffing and force him to comply.

"Where did you get the pattern for a lion for, anyway? Maybe there'll be a clue in that."

"Oh, I didn't use a pattern."

He looked at her, frowning quizzically.

"Well, my tea cosies used to sell particularly well whenever we tried to raise money at the convent, so I thought I'd have a go at making this little fellow up. I found a picture of a lion in one of your old encyclopaedias, and I tried to copy that." Shelagh blushed slightly as he gazed admiringly, first at her, then at the lion (who remained headless, and had begun to sag slightly).

"Who's he going to be for?"

She shook her head at him.

"Somehow, I don't think Timothy would appreciate a stuffed animal anymore."

He still looked confused, and she shook her head.

"It's for Freddie of course! I thought that since Chummy and Peter went to Africa before he was born...and you know she brought back all that lovely material and those ornaments...that maybe giving him an African toy would be a nice idea."

Looking up from her knitting needles, Shelagh saw Patrick looking at her in that certain way he had. It was something she'd become accustomed to, but it still made her blush to her toes as she felt an answering smile spread across her face. It was like he was seeing her for the first time all over again, and like she was the only thing that he wanted to see. There could have been bombs falling and he would still have been staring at her like she was everything.

It was a busy clinic next day. As well as the multitude of patients, one woman came in with what looked like syphilis, despite being 6 months pregnant. Jenny Lee, to her credit, dealt with this case considerably better than she had in the past, keeping calm and helping the woman before she retired to the kitchen to breathe steadily and drink copious amounts of tea. Nurse Turner on the other hand was greeted with no such sights, but was run off her feet with the continual flow of patients.

"Maybe we should get Fred to make some of those revolving doors!" whispered Trixie as another five women came in at once, all surrounded by their own gaggles of infants. "It would certainly make things a lot quicker!"

Nurse Turner chuckled as she led another patient behind the curtains (Mrs Brown, 7 months, everything progressing as normal). As she led Mrs Brown out, she spotted a familiar face at the other end of the hall and hurried over, making sure not to step on any of the toddlers sitting on the floor.

"Timothy, what are you doing back already? I didn't think you'd be back until four, and it's only half past three."

It was then that she noticed his red rimmed eyes and nose. As if confirming her diagnosis, he sneezed loudly, managing to contain it in a handkerchief (which, she noted, had already been used much today).

"Oh Timothy, why didn't you say you weren't feeling well this morning? You could have stayed home" she soothed, leading him over to a chair in the corner.

"I felt fine this morning," he sniffed, "it just came on suddenly."

Shelagh smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

"Well, why don't I go see if I can make you a cup of Horlicks now, and then when clinic's over I'll take you straight home?"

He sneezed again. "That would be great, thanks."

Shelagh squeezed her way past the expectant mothers to the kitchen, and began spooning Horlicks into a cup. As she was waiting for the kettle to boil, Sister Evangelina came in.

"What are you doing that for? Not more syphilis I hope." She blustered.

"Oh no Sister – Timothy's come here early from school with a cold, so I'm just making him this while he sits in the corner."

She stirred the drink, and opened one of the cupboards underneath, muttering "I'll just see if we have any biscuits."

Sister Evangelina snorted. "You'd have more luck finding the jewels of the Pharaohs than any biscuits near Nonnatus House. Look, take the poor lad home and tuck him up. We'll manage fine here, there's only half an hour left anyway."

Nurse Turner dithered, looking between Timothy and the patients.

"Go!" cried Sister Evangelina. "He'll only spread cold about the place, and we can't have the mothers of Poplar becoming sick from the Doctor's son."

"Well, if you're sure". Shelagh picked up her coat from the hook in the corner (where other coats used to hang so long ago), and shrugged it on. "When Doctor Turner comes, would you tell him that I've gone home already?"

"Of course. Now go!"

Half an hour later, Timothy was safely tucked up in bed at 19 Kenilworth Row, with a steaming mug by his bedside.

"Now, you make sure to drink all that up and if you need anything, just call me. I'll be right downstairs." Shelagh instructed, holding onto his hand and checking his pulse. Everything seemed normal, just a schoolboy cold, and she relaxed slightly.

"I will" he mumbled, squeezing her hand.

"I hope you feel better soon" she whispered, sensing he would nod off soon as she edged towards the door.

"Thanks, Mum" she heard him whisper as she left the room.

Shelagh paused in the corridor for a second. He had never called her "mum" before, and she hadn't wanted to press him. She was already so lucky to be part of his life, and understood better than anything the pain that came with losing your mother at such a young age. She would never have wanted Timothy to think that she was trying to replace his mother in any way, and if he had only ever called her "Shelagh" or "my Step-Mother" that would have made her perfectly happy. As ever though, his emotional maturity had surprised her – and as ever, he was completely right.

"Anything for you, son" she whispered, shutting the door gently.

Tucked up in his bed, Timothy heard her and smiled.

Doctor Turner came home from a difficult case to see his wife already baking something in the kitchen. He slung his coat over its hook, dropped the bag by the door in case of an emergency (he could never rest until he knew he could run out the door if needed), and sidled over to her. Shelagh was engrossed in her baking, and didn't see him until he put his hands around her waist. She jumped and spun round to see him grinning like a schoolboy. Pretending to swat his nose (and only managing to leave a smudge of flour on it), she turned back.

"I thought you'd have only just got back?" he inquired, trying to peer into the oven.

"Timothy came to the clinic with a cold, so Sister Evangelina let me leave early to bring him home."

Patrick frowned. "Is he ok? Do you think it's anything serious?"

Shaking her head, Shelagh replied "Oh no. I think he's just been playing outside without anything around his neck. He should be fine; he's tucked up with his annuals and a hot drink. Almost heaven, I should think."

Soothed, Patrick returned to watching Shelagh knead dough. After a minute, she paused, and turned to face him. Taking her glasses off and wiping them on the apron (which, he noted, left a small trace of flour on one lens), she looked shyly at the floor.

"Patrick?"

"Yes Shelagh?" he replied.

"Timothy called me mum earlier, when I was putting him to bed."

He felt a cold hand down his spine and looked at her, trying to see her face. He couldn't make out what emotion was passing over her eyes, and she was looking everywhere but at him.

"Well, that's...alright, isn't it?" he tried.

Still she said nothing.

"Shelagh, please understand that he just feels connected to you. If you think it's too much too soon then I'll speak to him, but please don't be scared by it-" he stopped as he realised she was staring at him, shocked.

"Patrick, how could you think that? Of course I want him to call me mum, I just didn't know if...after his mother died...whether you would think it was...oh, I don't know, inappropriate or something."

Relief washed over him, and he found himself laughing. Shelagh frowned, confused, and he reached out to hold her hand.

"If he calls you mum, I think that's brilliant. It doesn't mean he's forgotten Moira, and it doesn't mean he doesn't love her. But you are his mum too – and a very good one at that. You've earned your title" he said, and kissed her hand again. They danced in the kitchen as the bread sat forgotten in its tin and a waltz played on the radio, while the windows of 19 Kenilworth Row glowed.

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**I hope you liked the chapter - please review if you have anything to say (both generally about the chapter/work, and if there's anything you want to get off your chest)!**


	5. Chapter 5

"It's fine!" Timothy protested as Shelagh wiped her handkerchief across the black mark on the end of his nose.

Raising one eyebrow at him and smiling, she straightened his tie and started to tug his jacket into something approaching submission.

"You have to look smart for the nuns", she reminded him as he tried to wriggle away. "I promise afterwards you can take it all off and go back to being covered in mud if you want to."

"Can't I be covered in mud now?" he asked her, looking pleadingly at his father (who was trying and failing to stifle a grin).

"You know you can't, Timothy" he reminded his son, watching as Shelagh gave up her battle with the jacket. But no sooner had he finally allowed himself to wink at his son than Shelagh turned around to face him.

"You're surely not going to say that I'm covered in mud." He tried.

Shelagh straightened his shirt collar and tucked a wayward hair behind his ear.

"You'd be amazed" she replied dryly. Patrick studied her face, and saw a hint of something like panic hidden in her eyes. Subtly checking to see where Timothy had got to (he was circling the scooter, studying the engine carefully), he removed her hands from his hair gently and held them.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

Shelagh took a deep breath in.

"It just feels strange, is all – the three of us going to Nonnatus together. I'm sure I'm worrying about nothing."

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Of course, it must be strange. But we've been there before together-" (he briefly paused to remember the beauty of their wedding day),"and anyway, even while you were a nun, Sister Julienne was always trying to get me to come for dinner. I seem to remember you trying yourself once or twice."

Shelagh nodded and squeezed his hand as she turned to see where Timothy had got to.

"Oh, honestly!" she burst out seeing him perched on the scooter, pretending to take the corners at Monaco. This time though, even Shelagh couldn't help grinning as Timothy sheepishly lowered himself off and walked over.

"Maybe after lunch, you can ask Sister Evangelina to give you a demonstration," she whispered. "I hear she likes going very fast indeed." Timothy beamed at this, and submitted himself to a quick clean.

There were currently three Nuns, five Nurses, one Police Constable and a very happy baby waiting for lunch at Nonnatus House (Fred having gone to visit Dolly's house and see her husband again). "This looks like the set up to a very bad joke" Trixie whispered to Jenny as they sat themselves down at the table, and they barely managed to contain their laughter. Sister Julienne arched an eyebrow at them, and Jenny forced herself to be quiet (the resulting tortured expression gaining more than a few strange looks from the others). After a minute or two the doorbell rang, and Sister Julienne stood up quickly to let them in. She opened the door to see the three Turners standing on the doorstep, all dressed in their Sunday best.

"It's so good to see you", Sister Julienne greeted them warmly, shaking Doctor Turner's hand (and noting that his suit was seemed a little straighter than normal). Shelagh placed the large canvas bag she was carrying on the ground before shyly giving Sister Julienne a quick hug. Timothy, meanwhile, was doing his best to hide the oil mark on his trousers that Shelagh had failed to spot. Sister Julienne fixed him in her gaze and stuck out her hand, repressing a smile as he shook it in an identical manner to his father. "Come in, come in," she invited, and watched as Dr Turner helped Shelagh over the step. Her heart melted slightly at that small detail. Shelagh, as they both well knew, had lived here for ten years before she left. She had navigated that step carrying heavy boxes, fragile glass equipment, and even – once or twice – a baby. Yet knowing this, Dr Turner still helped her over because his manners wouldn't allow him to do anything else. If anyone could have taken away her Bernadette, Julienne reflected, she was glad it was him.

Dr Turner and Timothy seated themselves at the table as Shelagh decanted the contents of her bag onto a nearby cabinet. There was one large tin, and something wrapped in brown paper.

"I do hope that is a delight of the baked variety?" questioned Sister Monica Joan hopefully.

Shelagh smiled. "Your favourite, Coconut Cream, Sister."

This statement elicited a happy sign from the Sister in question. "Could fruits of Paradise be sweeter?"

Sister Evangelina huffed at this. "We won't find out if you keep yapping! Put it in the pantry, Sister – Nurse Turner, and we'll have it later. Bless you for bringing it, we hardly ever get any – someone gets there first."

The meal passed surprisingly well. The beef was well done, and the Yorkshire puddings, despite early appearances, had agreed to rise and looked glorious in the centre of the table. There was enough of everything - although, being Nuns, there was not a great deal surplus to requirements. Waste was a sin in Sister Evangelina's eyes, and excess in Sister Julienne's. Rationing had been in place for fourteen years in total, and even though it had ended five years previously neither had shaken the habit of careful budgeting and forward planning. The Coconut Cream cake was therefore extremely warmly received, and Shelagh beamed with pride as everyone pronounced it delicious.

It was as Sister Monica Joan finished her second slice that Dr Turner remembered the other gift they'd brought. He whispered in Shelagh's ear and she nodded at him, and then looked over the table at Chummy and her constable. They were currently staring at their son as he slept, both of them in the state of wonder that had been the norm since he was born.

"Chummy?" Shelagh said, quietly.

"Yes?" Chummy replied, breaking her gaze away from Freddie and smiling at Shelagh.

"I – we - have something for you. Well, something for Freddie anyway."

"Oh, that's jolly nice of you. Of all of you. You didn't have to do that!"

"Well, he's three months old now, and seeing as we didn't give you anything when he was born" – they all shuddered inwardly at the memory of that terrible evening –"we'd like to give you something now instead."

Shelagh passed the brown package to Timothy, who proudly gave it to Chummy. "I helped!" he interjected as she began to untie the string holding it together.

The woollen lion sat revealed on Chummy's lap, and Shelagh was relieved to see that both she and Constable Noakes seemed deeply touched.

"Oh, I could do a little weep of joy!" Chummy burst out, holding the lion up as everyone "ooh"-ed and "ahh"-ed. "Which part did you help with?" Sister Julienne asked Timothy, seeing his pride in the animal.

"The head wouldn't sit right, so I helped mum make a felt collar for him." Timothy said, beginning another slice of cake.

Sister Julienne, Sister Evangelina and four of the Nurses (Chummy was still admiring the lion) all started and turned to look at Timothy. He remained blissfully unaware eating his cake, and Shelagh just stared at him with unmistakable maternal love in her eyes. It was Dr Turner who met Sister Julienne's gaze and nodded, ever so slightly. The question in her eyes faded to be replaced with pride. There was a moment of blissful peace, only broken by Sister Evangelina blowing her nose loudly and apologising for her "dust allergy".

The Nurses waved the happy trio off after another round of cake, and as they turned to go inside Sister Evangelina turned to Sister Julienne.

"Did you hear him call her mother? I never thought."

Sister Julienne smiled at her benignly.

"Timothy seems very happy, which is not something I could have said a year ago. And Dr Turner...well. He obviously dotes on Shelagh."

"I never thought I'd see that man happy again, but it's like he's twenty years younger. I don't think I ever saw him like this even when Moira was alive."

"I know Sister, I know." Julienne said as they turned to go back inside.

At the table the Nurses were still gossiping.

"Did you hear him call her mum?" said Trixie. "And her face! I thought I would die from how cute they were together."

"It must have been strange," reflected Cynthia "for her to come back here and have lunch with all of us, with the Nuns. I mean, not that long ago she was wearing the habit herself."

"It all seems so clear now, looking back" said Trixie.

There was a cry from the corner, and the three looked up to see Chummy and Peter giving Freddie the knitted lion. He shook it around for a few seconds, then hugged it to himself and promptly fell asleep again.

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**As ever, I hope you enjoyed it - please read and review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews so far - it really does give me a boost and I'm glad that so many people are enjoying it!**

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It was in the car on the way back from a late clinic that they had their first argument.

"I just don't think you're ready to be back on call yet!" Doctor Turner was explaining as Shelagh frowned at him. "It was only five months ago that you left the Sanatorium and I don't want you to go out at night. You might catch a cold, or-"

"Patrick," Shelagh stopped him with a steely glint in her eye, "I have been a nurse in Poplar, in one form or another, for ten years. I understand that at first, while I was recuperating, it was inadvisable for me to do anything too strenuous, but I can't sit around any longer!"

"But you don't sit around!" he burst out. "You run the clinics, you do rounds-"

"But I don't deliver babies anymore, and that's why I came here in the first place! Nonnatus is stretched tight enough now Chummy is a mother, and it isn't fair on the others if I don't pull my weight! Jenny yawns at every meal and Cynthia has fallen asleep in clinic more than once. And quite apart from that, it is my purpose. I have to help these women."

He parked the car outside 19 Kenilworth Row and turned to her. "They will be stretched even tighter if you become ill again. That's what will happen if you're out at all hours, in the rain and snow. You cannot risk becoming ill again Shelagh!"

Shelagh opened the door and walked round to the boot, pulling her bag out and yanking it down (slightly harder than she meant to). "And I cannot refuse to help these women just because I was ill! They need me Patrick!"

"But we need you too!" he cried, slamming his own door.

Dinner was a fairly quiet affair that evening. Timothy, sensitive of the atmosphere, wolfed down his sausages and bolted upstairs – ostensibly to "do schoolwork". Shelagh collected the plates and began washing them at the sink, accidentally splashing water on the floor as she dropped then into the bowl. As she huffed and grabbed a tea towel to mop up the spill, Patrick came in.

"Here, let me do that", he offered, rushing over.

"I'm not going to break!" she snapped back, and instantly regretted it as he took on the appearance of a wounded dog. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm just out of sorts." She handed him the towel and began attending to the washing again, scrubbing the plates like she could find an answer in them. Patrick came up next to her and leaned on the countertop.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't want to stop you doing your job, I really don't. I just – I can't lose you. And if you go back to being on call then you might become ill again, and I couldn't – I couldn't take that. You work too hard."

As he spoke, Shelagh's shoulders slumped slightly and she bit her lip. As she put the plate on the draining board and turned to him, Patrick was shocked to see that she had tears in her eyes. She took a deep. Shuddering breath and looked up at him.

"I'm afraid I was being rather selfish. I just feel so much better and I can't stomach any more sitting around while others are kept so busy! It feels like I'm betraying someone – like I'm betraying myself. It is my purpose, Patrick." Shelagh ducked her head down after this and shook it almost imperceptibly.

"But what if you become ill again? If you're put back on call again then you'll be out all hours. Anything could happen." He reached for her hands and held them as she breathed deeply. Finally she looked up at him again with a glint in her eyes.

"Why don't we make a compromise?"

And so it was that Nurse Shelagh Turner was officially put back on the rota for delivery between the hours of 8 am – 6 pm. Sister Julienne, when Shelagh announced her intention, had opened her mouth to unknowingly state the same reservations as her husband. Shelagh very quickly ran through her reasons and caveats, and promised again to be careful. Sister Julienne studied her with a knowing look on her face as she ran through the speech. It was obvious from her rapidity that she had already explained all this to someone earlier. At least he considers her health more than she does, the Sister reflected. Finally Shelagh finished and stood looking at her hopefully.

"I understand I am not the only person whose reservations you have addressed regarding this?" she said simply.

Shelagh blushed. "Well...no, Sister. Patrick – Dr Turner didn't want me to put myself back on the rota, but he agreed if it's only within certain hours."

Sister Julienne nodded. "I wouldn't want to put you on the night shift anyway. Even without your recent illness the logistics are too complicated. But you must be sure about this. Have you spoken to your doctors?"

"Yes, they said I was fit to return to work."

"Did you tell them the exact nature of this work?"

Shelagh blushed again, and looked down. "I told them I was a midwife, but they may not have been so clear on...when I would be a midwife."

"I know you have your purpose Nurse Turner, and your reasons. But your health is just as important as that of the mothers you nurse in this case. We need you. A recurrence of your tuberculosis would be devastating – for all of us." Sister Julienne could say no more as tears sprang to her eyes at the mere thought of her beloved Shelagh becoming ill again. Thankfully Shelagh, looking sheepishly at the floor, didn't notice, and Sister Julienne quickly blinked them away.

"I will be careful Sister, but I would only be doing much of what I currently do anyway. And it would mean that everything was back to normal, back to what it used to be. Or as close as it can ever be, anyway."

"You will take care and not overwork yourself?"

"I will, Sister."

The first patient she was called out to was Mrs Molly Brown, at roughly 1 pm the following day. Cycling down the road next to the docks, she felt completely free. It was difficult managing the bike's thin wheels with the deep cobbles and heavy delivery pack but, she reflected, it was much simpler now she didn't have to manage the habit. Tucking it in had always been cumbersome, whereas her new blue dress fluttered in the wind, and she could feel one or two tendrils of hair escaping. As she navigated around a particularly deep cobble her back gave a slight twinge and Shelagh winced, attributing it to being out of practise. When she arrived there was a set of slippery stairs to navigate, but at least it was clear where the woman was. Her screams could be heard even down the street, and they only intensified as Shelagh got closer. As she reached the landing and rested against the rail for a second to regain her breath, a man with a panicked expression walked up to her.

"Are you the midwife?"

"Yes, yes I am. Would you be Mr Brown?" she questioned, allowing him to show her the way to the room.

"That's me. Molly's just inside there."

"Thank you," she said, smiling.

Opening the door, she was greeted with the sight of a stark room, bleakly lit by one filthy window with peeling newspaper taped on. There was a heavy smell of damp and rot, and Shelagh felt slightly sick as it hit her nostrils. The bed sat in the middle of the room, with a heavily pregnant woman holding its rail and moaning. She was already covered in sweat and Shelagh could see that her waters had recently broken from the puddle on the floor.

"You're here!" she grunted, as Shelagh put her bag on the floor and crossed over.

"Yes I am. Now, I'll just make you a bit more comfortable, then we'll see how far away your baby is from being born, Molly."

Once Molly Brown was lying on the bed, Shelagh began her examinations.

"Just about six centimetres dilated! Not far to go now Molly, it won't be long."

Shelagh had dressed herself in the white scrubs for labour and was preparing to check Molly again when she heard an almighty crash from below and a yell of pain.

"That sounds like my Jim!" Molly cried. "Please, go see if he's alright Nurse?"

Shelagh dithered for a second. Though she loathed leaving a patient in labour, it did sound like he was seriously injured and Molly wouldn't rest until she knew. Finally, she relented.

"Alright, but I'll just be quick."

It didn't take her long to find the source of the yell. Jim was leaning against the rail on the bottom landing, his arm very obviously dislocated and his face a grimace of pain.

"My goodness!" Shelagh started upon seeing him and rushed over, careful not to fall over. "What happened?"

"I was rushing down the stairs, and I slipped. All this damn water..." he breathed out, wincing at the slight movements.

"I'll go and call Doctor Turner." Shelagh decided.

First Shelagh went upstairs to make sure Molly was alright. She didn't seem to have progressed any further, but everything had happened so quickly already that Shelagh knew it couldn't be long.

"What's happened? Is he alright?" Molly panted, trying to raise herself off the bed.

"Your husband's had a fall Molly. I'm afraid I'm going to have to go and call Doctor Turner so he can sort Jim out, but I won't be long, I promise. You just stay there, you're doing beautifully."

Molly nodded helplessly and yelled again as another wave of pain overtook her.

"You do that love, go and call your husband. I can-I can wait."

Shelagh ran down the stairs as fast and carefully as she could, dodging the largest puddles. Kneeling down to Jim, she checked him over again. His eyes were glazed over with pain and looking closer, she could see that his ankle was also badly twisted.

"Don't worry Mr Brown, I won't be long. I'll go and call Dr Turner now."

"How's Molly?" he cried after her. "How's my baby?"

Shelagh had no time to reply as she sprinted to the end of the road and desperately looked for the nearest phone box. There was no one nearby whose help she could ask, and it took her another precious minute to spot the box. Dialling the number with shaking hands she prayed fervently that he would pick up. One ring went by...then another...then the third as she crossed herself. Finally on the fifth ring, she heard his voice.

"Doctor Turner speaking?"

"Patrick, it's me, it's Shelagh." She cried.

"Shelagh, what's wrong, what's happened? Where are you?" he replied, and she could hear the fear in his voice as he, no doubt, imagined all the worst possibilities.

"It's not me – I'm at a delivery and the woman's husband has had a bad fall. His shoulder looks dislocated and I think he's done something to his ankle as well. He might have concussion, I didn't have time to check – Mrs Brown is about to give birth any second."

Shelagh heard him take a deep breath to steady himself and his voice came across steady and professional. "Where are you?"

She gave him the address and said goodbye, practically breaking the box in her rush to get back to her patient. Molly Brown's screams had definitely intensified since she left, and as she ran she prayed she wouldn't be too little, too late.

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**As ever, thank you for reading, and please review if you have time! Just to give some warning, I'm going to be away for a fortnight from Thursday, so there will be no updates for a while - I promise I haven't forgotten!**


	7. Chapter 7

**So I have an apology to make. There's been quite a large gap between the last chapter and this one - I was away for two weeks, and then exams got on top of me and I didn't have any time to devote to this anymore. Luckily they're finished so I can get back to shameless continual fangirling. I hope you enjoy this chapter and as ever - please review if you have time!**

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Molly Brown was panting when she re-entered.

"I'm sorry I took so long Molly!" Shelagh cried as she crossed the room towards the straining woman.

"How's – my – husband?" she moaned in response, her eyes sharp with pain as they squinted at Shelagh.

"He'll be fine, Doctor Turner is on his way." Shelagh reassured her, hoping to take some of the comfort from those words for herself.

"Your husband's – a good man, Nurse Turner. I'm sure he'll do his best for my Jim."

If there was any living being she trusted, it was Patrick. Jim would be in the safest hands possible. Assured of his safety, Shelagh gave her concentration wholly to Mrs Brown, and within a few hours was wrapping a healthy baby girl up in a yellow blanket and carefully handing her over to the new mother. She watched for a second as Molly held the baby's tiny hand on her finger and stroked the miniature nails.

"She's perfect, Molly." She sighed happily – and in no small part relieved. As she tried to stand her knees gave way slightly and she clutched the bed for support, wincing at the pain shooting through her legs.

"Looks like you're in the wars too, Nurse Turner." Molly commented wryly from the bed.

"Oh no, just a touch of pins and needles. I'm sure I'll recover in a second." she smiled, watching as Molly cooed over her daughter and gently stretching out her calf to ease the blood flow.

There was a knock at the door and Jim entered in a wheelchair, his ankle in a cast and his arm in a sling. Dr Turner came behind, wheeling him and looking anxiously around for Shelagh as he came in.

"It's a little girl Jim." Molly whispered, her face brightening as her husband came and positioned himself by the edge of the bed. "Our little girl."

Shelagh and Patrick stood back and watched as the proud new parents admired their baby. The sight of the happy family made Shelagh (unusually) begin to tear up, and she reached for her husband's hand absentmindedly. Finding it, he squeezed her hand and looked down at her. She was touched to see that there were tears in his eyes as well, and she rested her head on his shoulder for a second.

As they left the family together and began the trek downstairs, Shelagh realised something.

"But Patrick, how is Jim going to get up and downstairs until his ankle has healed? And how will he earn money?"

A shadow passed over Patrick's face as he held out his hand to help her over one of the puddles.

"His ankle's only twisted, but even then it'll be at least a week before he can walk. I don't know what they'll do – Jim mentioned something about his mother living a few streets away, and going to stay with her but from what I gathered she's too old to cope with a new born baby as well. Maybe there's a sister or some other relative."

They reached the bottom of the flight of stairs, and Patrick reached for her hands and held them in his own, calloused ones.

"I was wrong, and I'm sorry. You were more than ready to be on call again. You were magnificent today."

Shelagh blushed and met his eyes. She saw in them a fierce kind of pride, and it made her heart skip slightly.

"I think together we were quite the team. You were rather magnificent yourself though, Dr Turner."

He kissed her forehead and smiled at her, in a manner that reminded Shelagh slightly of Timothy when he knew he'd done something wrong but that he would get away with it (she was reminded particularly of the night before when he had come home with muddy shorts from practising camping in the woods at Scouts. Shelagh had found the story of how Jonny tried to light the fire and ended up singeing his eyebrows so funny she hadn't even noticed the dirt until it came to washing).

"Together", he said wryly, "we could make the perfect person."

"Yes. Together maybe we could." she mused as he helped her back onto the bike (her knees still protesting at the movement).

Shelagh came to check up on Molly the following afternoon. Jim was already hobbling around on crutches, seemingly determined to manage perfectly well despite everyone's expectations. Molly was perched on the bed, holding her daughter and singing softly as Shelagh walked in.

"Good afternoon, Nurse Turner!" she grinned at her.

"Good afternoon Molly. How are you and the little one doing?" she asked, setting down her bag on a nearby (mostly clean) table surface.

"Everything's going swimmingly so far. Me sister's popping in later to give us a hand with everything, but I haven't noticed any problems."

"Good. May I ask what you've named your daughter?" Shelagh questioned, edging over to see the scrunched up, frowning face encased in layers of pink wool and frills. "Oh, she really is a bonny wee one!" she couldn't help exclaiming as the little girl squinted angrily at her.

"I reckon she takes after me Aunt Joyce." Molly said proudly. "So we're going to call her Joyce Patricia Sheila, after her and you and your husband. Couldn't have got through yesterday without you, angels the lot of you."

For a second, Shelagh thought she would cry. Instead she reached for the baby girl's hand and watched as her tiny fingers curled around Shelagh's nail. A mix of both. The perfect person. She wipeda tear from the corner of her eye and beamed up at Molly.

"I'll tell him as soon as I see him, I'm sure Dr Turner will be delighted – as am I. Thank you for the honour, Molly."


	8. Chapter 8

**You wait two months for a chapter and two come at once! Thank you so much for still reading this story (unless you've got lost on your way to Google) - it means so much to me and I sincerely hope you enjoy it.**

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Patrick came home one evening a week or two later to find her sitting out in their small inner-city garden, her cardigan clutched tight and a pensive look on her face.

"Penny for them?" he tried, siting down gently next to her. Even so, she started.

"I didn't know you were home Patrick!" she cried. Shelagh began to stand but he put his hand gently on her knee. She sat down again and he perched himself next to her, trying to avoid the patches of green. It was a very old bench, possibly form a railway station. It had inexplicably been in the garden when he bought the house, and despite many plans of repainting it had remained in the same peeling condition as when they had arrived. Still, he was glad Shelagh seemed to like it. Maybe that could be he and Timothy's next summer project (last year had been repainting the shed. He still wasn't sure about the red and blue colour-scheme).

"Don't worry, I've bought fish and chips for dinner, so no cooking tonight. Scouts finishes in an hour and his friend Jonny's mum is bringing him home. You can properly relax for once."

Smiling at the prospect of fish and chips, Shelagh moved along the bench to get closer to him. He drew her under his coat as she rested her head on his shoulder. Then - unmistakably - he heard her sigh slightly. It was almost imperceptible but Patrick was so finely attuned to her every motion that he heard it as if she'd screamed, and a flash of panic shot through him. Looking down, he saw one small tear escaping from the corner of her eye, and his mind went into freefall (as it often did when Shelagh was concerned).

"Darling, what's wrong?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm as he prayed wildly to a God he had only just started to believe in again.

"Oh no," she protested, "I'm just being silly."

"Shelagh, nothing you do or say would ever be silly to me. You can tell me the truth - what is it?"

"It's just, sometimes...sometimes I feel as though this is too perfect. As though I'm going to suddenly open my eyes and be back at the sanatorium, and everything will have been a dream. I'll still be a Nun, and I'll still have tuberculosis and I can't bear the thought of it. That loneliness, the wondering and the waiting - I couldn't bear it. See, I told you it was silly." Even now, she couldn't tell him everything about her weeks at the sanatorium. The days had been alright - briskly moving on with the triple treatment, talking to other patients and visits from the midwives and other Nuns. It had been the nights when she tossed and turned, desperate to read the letters that arrived so innocently on her breakfast tray. Even hiding them in the pages of her Bible didn't help, and she lost count of the number of times she cried herself to sleep. No indeed, the thought of returning to that wilderness was not one she wanted to contemplate.

Patrick seemed to sense her distress and held her even closer, planting a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Sometimes I wonder the same thing. None of this seems like it can possibly be true. Why you chose me, how you recovered - they are miracles I thank God for everyday. Every time I see you in the kitchen, or out here, or talking to Timothy in the evenings I have to pinch myself."

Shelagh sighed again, but this time with a happier tone. "Will we still feel like this when we're seventy?" she asked. "Always wondering how it happened, and never quite believing it?"

"There are so many things in this world I still don't quite believe. Just look at the sky tonight! In the middle of London, with smog filled nights we get this one glorious clear sky where you can actually see stars. That almost feels like a miracle to me. I've always loved stars."

"Me too," she replied. "When I was a little girl in Scotland, I remember we used to go and stargaze some summer evenings, We'd take tea and blankets and sit and look for hours it felt like. My favourite constellation was Orion, because it looked like one of the bears from my favourite story book if you squinted hard enough. I could sit there and make up a thousand stories about that bear rampaging through the sky. After my mother died we never went stargazing anymore, and since I moved to London I'd almost forgotten there were stars. I think this might be the first time I've clearly seen Orion again for years."

"Where is it?" Patrick asked, squinting at the sky.

"Look just a wee bit left of that Mrs Rodger's chimney, then up."

"Oh, I see it. Not so sure about the bear though."

Shelagh chuckled softly and they sat in companionable silence for a few moments more, before Shelagh started slightly.

"Look Patrick, a shooting star!"

"I know what my wish is." he said, holding her tighter. "Mine too." she replied contentedly. It was a perfect moment for both of them, and Shelagh wanted to take it and wrap it up like a precious diamond, never to be tarnished. It was the strength of this clarity that gave her the courage to suddenly sit up and turn to face him, breathing in deeply and clasping her hands together.

"Patrick - I've got something to tell you."

His fears resurfaced, and he gripped her hands, holding them tight as he gazed into her eyes to try and divine something within their depths. Was it tuberculosis? Maybe she wanted to retake her vows (was that even possible)? Maybe she wanted to go to Scotland. He'd be fine with that, he'd always wanted to visit her childhood home -

"Patrick, I think I might be pregnant."

**As ever, please review if you have time. Thank you!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews, I'm overwhelmed by all the support and I'm glad to see that Turnadette is still going strong (six months to go...). I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!**

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For a second Patrick's eyes seemed impossibly wide, then his gaze dropped to her stomach and he gripped her hands even tighter.

"You're sure?"

Shelagh looked at him. Despite the high emotion of the moment, the humour of his question wasn't lost on her - although apparently it was on him.

"Maybe we should ask a Midwife. Do you know any?"

He looked up, his face almost split by a grin.

"How far along is my wife, Nurse Turner?"

She smiled at him. "I'm not sure, I think seven weeks or so. I only realised how late I was yesterday, and it fits all the symptoms I've been having the last few weeks."

A look of panic flashed into Patrick's eyes and he looked at her intensely, trying to see through her gaze. "Are you certain this is what you want Shelagh? I don't want to rush you into anything, and I don't want you to feel pressured or -"

"Patrick. I couldn't be more certain." she replied simply. There was nothing else she could have said.

He gazed at her adoringly. "Thank you." he said simply, putting his hand on her stomach. "I love you."

"I love you too." she said, and they stared at the stars together.

Shelagh continued to work as ever, but now she went around the previously drab world of Poplar seeing everything with new eyes. The world seemed full of light in a way it never had before. Even when it rained she saw a rainbow in every drop, and the drops of dew on the petals of flowers were enough to almost bring her to tears. She felt reborn, and every morning she lay awake next to Patrick (whose hand would invariably find itself subconsciously reaching over to protect her stomach in the night ) thanking God for the surprising path her life had taken. The morning sickness she found less to celebrate about, but as she said to Patrick one particularly bad morning having woken at five and not left the bathroom until seven: "Nothing good ever came easily."

He stared at her, his brave Shelagh with her hair tied back and her tired face but sparking eyes, and he shook his head in wonder. "Sometimes, you're so stoically Scottish" he said, and kissed her forehead. Timothy chose just that moment to walk in and winced at the sight of them. Plonking himself down at the table and reaching for the toast and marmalade he cleared his throat, causing the lovebirds to spring apart.

"Morning!" he chirped, looking at the pair with a glint in his eye Patrick recognised from the mirror.

Neither of them wanted to tell many people yet. Shelagh was particularly concerned about the day she told the Nuns, but Patrick reminded her how understanding they had been about their engagement in the first place. Having seen the love lavished on Freddie, he could only image the reaction to Shelagh's baby. Personally he thought their child would be more at risk of smothering by adoration than rejection.

So despite her morning sickness and the back twinges (the cause of which seemed obvious now), Shelagh maintained her usual duties. She did tell Jane though, and asked her to act as her Midwife. It was a difficult choice, but she didn't want it to be any of the Nuns and of the Nurses, Jane had always been the one she felt the greatest connection to. Since her own engagement to the Reverend Appleby-Thornton she too seemed to be walking on air, and Shelagh's news made her grin like a Cheshire cat and briefly hug the former Nun (the only physical display of affection Shelagh - or anyone else at Nonnatus - had ever received from her). The examination revealed she was indeed seven weeks along, and Jane promised to keep her mouth sewn tightly shut. Shelagh had no doubt she would.

The most difficult moment of the first three months, came, surprisingly, not as a result of the foetus, but from a patient in the clinic one rainy Wednesday afternoon. She had just finished another check up with Molly and baby Joyce and was ordering her instruments ready for her next patient, when she heard a loud voice from the other side of the curtain.

"You lot aren't so high and mighty or pure yourselves!"

Jenny's clear voice came across too a second later.

"Could I please ask you to calm down."

"Calm down! You're accusing my husband of seeing other women! I won't calm down!"

"I have said no such thing, I simply made my diagnosis."

"I know what you said ad I know what you think! You all act so good and proper, but we all know the truth. That Sister Bernadette - Shelagh is she now? - and Doctor Turner, well, I think we all know what went on there. A harem, that's the truth of it, not a nunnery!"

Shelagh had been standing with her pinard frozen in motion above the tray as she listened to the woman's rant, but at this she could take no more. Placing the instrument in the tray she drew back the thin curtain. Jenny was standing with her arms folded and lips pursed facing the angry woman. As she saw Shelagh step forward her face dropped and she opened her mouth to desperately try to get the woman to shut up, but to no avail.

"You're all just whores, the lot of you!" the woman finished, and spat at Jenny's feet.

At this Shelagh had heard enough.

"Excuse me." she said calmly, but with an threatening undertone of restrained anger in her voice. The woman turned around and she recognised her as Mrs Jones, the syphilis patient from a few weeks previously. Her bright red face gawped for a second, then she opened her mouth to begin what promised to be a spectacular rant. Shelagh got there first.

"For your information Mrs Jones, my husband and I became engaged after I left the order, and there was absolutely no improper conduct on either side. I left for personal reasons and I will have no aspersions cast on the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus nor on my husband and myself. I think it best you leave now, Mrs Jones, and return when you feel somewhat calmer."

The sight of Shelagh in her Nurse's uniform with hands on hips and a fire in her eyes was enough to make Mrs Jones button her mouth and, bending to gather her bags, leave swiftly. And all at once, Shelagh realised what she had done. Looking around she saw Trixie, Jenny and Cynthia all staring at her with their mouths open and a host of Poplar women all staring at her, equally amazed. There was a break as she felt waves of embarrassment wash over her, and she wanted to melt into the ground. Then Molly Brown stood up, still holding Joyce on her hip, and grinned at her.

"You tell 'em Nurse Turner!" she cried. The other women waiting with their children joined in the cheer, and Shelagh blushed profusely as she battled her way over to the kitchen. She entered to see Sister Julienne standing by the sink, staring at her amazedly. The cheers dissipated while the Nurses resumed order, and Shelagh suddenly burst into tears as the adrenaline draine from her system.

Sister Julienne led her over to a chair and held her hand as she tried to stop the tears form coming. Shelagh had never felt so ashamed, and she could only imagine what Sister Julienne must be thinking of her.

"I'm so - sorry, I never meant to get so - angry! I know that it was the wrong thing, I do honestly and I'm so so sorry Sister-"

"Shelagh." Sister Julienne said with a slight hint of amusement in her voice. "That woman was abusing you, your husband, and the Order. If you hadn't said something, one of the other women would have, and that would have been a great deal more violent. And if none of them had, I would have said something myself, and that would have been even less pleasant. "

"I just-", Shelagh stuttered as she hiccupped - "didn't mean to get so angry with her! She's a patient, it was extremely unprofessional of me."

"It was necessary." Sister Julienne said firmly, holding her hand and gazing into her eyes. "Although it was unlike you. Is everything alright?"

Shelagh desperately wanted to tell her the news, but if she lost this baby she knew it would break Sister Julienne's heart as well as her own, and she couldn't bear the possibility. Praying she would understand when she knew the truth, she stuttered "No, nothing."

"Well," Sister said, patting her arm as she stood up, "sit here a few moments more and come out when you're ready. Maybe some Horlicks will help." and Shelagh could have sworn as Sister Julienne stepped out that she heard her chuckle to herself.

When she told Patrick the story he stood agape at her . All she could think was that he was disappointed in her, and she felt the waves of shame threaten again. Then, all in a second, he swept her up in his arms and kissed her.

"You are so amazing" he muttered into her ear fervently, "and I thank God you chose me."

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**Thank you for reading - as ever I hope you enjoyed it and please review if you have time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello again - I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. My inner fangirl went slightly wild...**

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At the beginning of the 14th week they told Timothy. They knew from his sideways glances and questions at the dinner table that he'd twigged something was up, but neither of them knew how he would take the news and Shelagh was secretly terrified that he'd react negatively. He was 11 years old after all (they'd celebrated his birthday two months before with a homemade cake and a party involving lots of mud and camping in the tiny garden), and a new sibling would be a drastic wasn't until Patrick woke up one morning to see Shelagh pacing up and down the room with her face creased in a frown that he realised exactly how worried she was.

"You're his mum. This is his sibling." he comforted her, rubbing her shoulders as she sat on the edge of the bed. "He will be thrilled."

And so, when Shelagh reached three months, they sat down with Timothy at the table one weekend to tell him.

"Timothy," Patrick began, "we've got some news for you."

At this promising sentence, Timothy's eyebrows raised. He ran through the best possibilities in his mind - a new bike, more books, maybe a microscope of his own - while Shelagh looked at Patrick and took a deep breath.

"Timothy - you're going to have a new baby brother or sister."

He was stunned. Somehow, the possibility of having a new younger sibling had never occurred to him. His mouth hanging open, he said the first thing that came into his head.

"But you don't look pregnant."

Shelagh could see his shock and desperately prayed that he wouldn't be too upset as she kept her voice deliberately calm. "Well, I'm not very far along, only three months. I expect that in a month or two it will be much more obvious."

Timothy blinked a few times and closed his mouth. He looked at the two of them and saw the panic both were trying to hide. His father looked terrified, and Shelagh as though she might throw up. This explained the noises he'd been hearing in he morning from the bathroom, he realised. Then he considered the possibility of having a younger sibling. Someone to play with, someone to look up to him. Someone who was obviously going to be very loved. And, without realising it had happened, his face split into a huge grin.

"That's amazing news Mum!" he cried, leaping up to hug Shelagh. "I can't believe it! How long will it be?"

Shelagh held tight to his arms around her and tried to hold in tears. Seeing her struggle, Patrick intervened.

"In about six months or so Timothy. A summer baby!"

"This is great." Timothy said again, going to hug his dad as well. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Well," began Shelagh, "we wanted to be sure everything was alright with the baby."

"And you're sure it is?" said Timothy, a look of panic flashing across his eyes that Shelagh recognised from his father.

"Everything is perfect." Patrick confirmed.

Timothy beamed at them again.

Telling the Nuns was almost as daunting. It was during lunch a week later that Shelagh plucked up the courage. Having made sure that Sisters Evangelina and Monica Joan were sated with cake, she put her fork down and looked around to get everyone's attention.

"I, um - I have some news."

She saw Jane, down the other side of the table, hide a smile and felt thankful again for her choice of midwife. The rest of the Nurses were looking questioningly at her, and Sister Julienne across the table was frowning slightly. Taking in a deep breath, she took the plunge.

"I am - well, I'm um - expecting a baby."

There was shock for a second and she looked around quickly to gauge the immediate reaction - Trixie's mouth was comically open with a single salad leaf dangling from her fork, Jenny's eyebrows were raised higher than she'd though possible and Cynthia was already smiling. She couldn't bring herself to look at Sister Julienne. Then came the predictable wave of riotous excitement.

"Why didn't you tell us!" squealed Trixie as Chummy blustered "Oh, how spiffing!". Cynthia asked the practical question of "How far along are you?", but lost in the storm of congratulations she couldn't answer. Looking across the table she was overawed by Sister Julienne's reaction. She was crying - not profusely, and not obviously. But nevertheless, there they were - tears. She reached over and held Shelagh's hand.

"I am so happy for you, my good good friend. You will be so happy."

Shelagh was immediately forbidden from going out to deliveries on her own (or, as Sister Julienne put it, "ideally at all"). Shelagh resisted at first, but when Sister Julienne fixed her in her steely gaze, she went silent.

"My dear, a first pregnancy when you have only recently recovered from Tuberculosis means that you must take every precaution with your health. You do not want to lose this baby and we cannot lose you." It was clear that Sister Julienne referred to herself with the "we", and seeing this (as well as remembering Patrick's worries over returning to work at all), she capitulated.

For a while, everything seemed to go on as normal - although as the gossip spread she caught more than a few sideways glances at her abdomen. But she herself could see nothing there until one sunny and bright Thursday morning at the beginning of March. She awoke at the normal time and was tidying the bedroom while Patrick got breakfast ready. She reached up to take her Nurse's uniform down from the door it was hanging on, and out of the corner of her eye saw herself in the mirror. And there it was. The bump. Still fairly small, but unmistakable. All thought of uniforms forgotten, she turned to the mirror and looked sideways on. Wondering how she hadn't seen it before, she rested a hand on her abdomen wonderingly. At that moment Patrick came in, wondering himself where she'd got to. At the sight of her gazing in the mirror he understood completely what had happened and gazed adoringly at the sight.

"Can you see it too Patrick?" she asked, still dazed.

"As clear as day." he replied.

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**As ever - thank you and please review if you have time! (I should get that on a t-shirt)**


	11. Chapter 11

It was as she entered the third trimester that Shelagh became scared. More than 10 years spent in the service of the women of Poplar meant that she was acutely aware of every existing pregnancy-related condition, and as a first time mother over thirty she knew that the risk of at least some of those conditions was higher. Despite never having had the compulsion before, she found herself running through all the symptom lists for every possible illness in her head routinely, and analysing every ache and twinge she felt in esoteric detail. Patrick could tell something was up and in an effort to distract Shelagh he suggested they decorate the room set aside for the baby. She happily agreed, and so early one Saturday morning the three Turners found themselves critically surveying the room previously used as a small bedroom. Timothy, deciding to make sure they did it properly for his new sibling, had volunteered his help with the paint.

"It would be a lot easier to decorate if there was some magic way to tell the baby's gender." Shelagh sighed, viewing the tins of green paint that stood by the door.

"I read an article in The Lancet the other day actually, discussing new methods of ultrasound technology being used to do just that." Patrick commented. This grabbed Shelagh's attention and she turned to him, her eyes alight with interest.

"Really! What are the other suggested diagnostic uses?" she asked, while Timothy rolled his eyes. Seeing his boredom they smiled at each other, silently promising to continue the conversation later.

"Well, as we don't know, I think pale green will be a safe bet either way." Patrick said, picking up a tin and brush and giving them to Timothy. Shelagh sat down on a chair by the door and set herself to finishing a new knitted teddy bear. Soon the walls were done, and Patrick had moved on to the next stage. For some indiscernible reason unexplained to Shelagh, this lead to him being up a ladder in the attic, rooting around for something - "A surprise", apparently.

She watched, bemused, as he gingerly lowered a box down to Timothy. "Careful!" he warned, as Timothy staggered slightly under the weight. Finally it was safely down on the ground, and Patrick proudly gestured to Shelagh to open it. Smiling at his eagerness she did so, and gasped when she saw its contents.

"Oh Patrick...when did you have time to go and get this?" she asked, looking inside the box. On top was a picture of a completed crib with a drop down side, and below it lay the parts. There was no shop name, but she knew it was a prestigious brand highly rated for safety, and it couldn't have been cheap. "And how on earth did you get it into the attic?" she added, remembering Timothy's struggles.

"I saw it a few weeks ago and though it was perfect. Peter Noakes helped me get it up there one evening when you and Chummy were at Nonnatus for Jane's birthday. Do you like it?" he asked as she flicked through the booklet.

"It's wonderful." she smiled back at him, and Timothy groaned halfheartedly as he kissed her forehead again.

A few hours later the crib was finished and sat proudly in the center of the room as the walls finished drying. A new mattress was placed inside, and covered by a blanket crocheted by Chummy as a belated "thank-you" for Freddie's lion (still his favourite toy). On top of that blanket proudly sat Shelagh's teddy bear, with stitched-on eyes ("buttons might be dangerous") and a collar around his neck ("I worried his head might come off, I do seem to have a problem with the heads"). Shelagh stood in the doorway with Patrick's arms around her and surveyed their little room thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking darling?" Patrick asked, sensing the tension in her shoulders.

Shelagh sighed, but the tension remained.

"I'm just - oh, I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"If it matters to you, it matters to me." he replied firmly. "What is it?"

"It's just that I can't help feeling worried about this pregnancy. Our baby. I know it's stupid, but I can't help worrying about something going wrong."

"But nothing will go wrong Shelagh. We're both highly trained professionals, we'd notice any sign."

"I know that, I do, but I can't help worrying."

Seeing her fear, Patrick correctly sensed that there must be another reason for her worry, and he waited a few moments more to give her time to compose herself.

"When I was ten years old, my Aunt died. Coming so soon after my mother's death it was a severe blow for my whole family. But-well-she was pregnant when she died."

"Oh Shelagh." Patrick said, realising the source of her worry. "What was it?"

"I don't know." she confessed. "She wasn't living with us at the time, and it was so sudden it could have been anything. Coming after my mother, my father didn't want me upset again, so he delayed telling me and never went into details."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, frowning slightly in consternation. If he'd known, he'd never have let her work as hard as she had. Although, considering her force of will he doubted that he'd have been successful anyway.

"I didn't know whether it would have any effect on me! She might have fallen, she might have caught 'flu - it could have been pregnancy related but I never heard of any other conditions in the family." Shelagh got this far and then had to pause. When she began again her voice was distinctly shaky, and she took one or two shuddering breaths. "And as well as that, I - I was scared."

"Scared of what?" he asked, hoping to allay her fear.

"That's exactly it, I don't know what to be scared of! There are so many things that I know to look out for, but I don't know which one too look out for. I'm a trained midwife and I've practiced for over ten years, I know I'm being ridiculous but I can't seem to help it!" Finally having confessed to him, Shelagh cried in earnest as Patrick rubbed her shoulders. As her crying eased off, he pulled away to look her in the eyes.

"I promise you, Shelagh, that I will support you all the way through this. You don't have to be scared, because I will be with you every step of the way. I haven't noticed any abnormal symptoms - but if anything comes up I will do everything I can to help you. If I could, I would come and hold your hand in the delivery room, but I don't think Sister Evangelina would be impressed at my bad example and her wrath would be quite something to behold. And anyway, you're allowed to be a bit ridiculous sometimes - you are pregnant after all."

Shelagh chuckled as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Thank you for everything" she said simply, leaning into him as they daydreamed about their new nursery.

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**Thank you for reading this chapter - I hope you enjoyed it!**


	12. Chapter 12

**This is a momentous update for me - the last chapter broke through the most views I've ever had for a story, which I still can't quite believe! Thank you to everyone who's read or reviewed this story, it means so much to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter (even though it's slightly shorter than normal - sorry)!**

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It was quite something to be the one having the examination for once. From her position on the cold bed, Shelagh could see a crack in the ceiling of the hall. She'd never noticed it before - too concerned with what was happening in front of her, or inside her head. The paint was peeling around it, coming away in small flakes like snow. Nearby was a stray Christmas decoration - a tinsel star - that she remembered Patrick helping Timothy to place the year before. That had been a good Christmas, she mused. She had laboured over the pudding for weeks beforehand to make sure it was ready, following her mother's old Scottish recipe passed down through generations. Then, when the big day came she'd been downstairs at the crack of dawn to get the turkey ready. Patrick had set the pudding on fire with whiskey later, and she'd held her breath as Timothy edged away from the table, pushing his chair back while Patrick lit the match. But their worry had been misplaced and he'd done it perfectly, not even setting fire to the curtains (which, she learned from Timothy, had happened before. She'd wondered where the scorch mark came from). Remembering that day, she pondered what next year's Christmas would be like - probably even noisier with a baby. Maybe they'd go round to Nonnatus instead. The Nuns would sing, and Mrs B would make a feast for the soup kitchen they ran from this very hall. Maybe they would go up to Scotland for a traditional Christmas. She mused over this as Jane came in, hands freshly scrubbed.

Jane had found herself transformed since her arrival at Nonnatus, and even more so since becoming the wife of Reverend Appleby-Thornton at their spring wedding earlier in the year. Sister Evangelina - for whom weddings were obviously an emotional trigger - had cried copiously, which they had all gallantly pretended not to notice as she sniffed about her "allergies". Jane seemed a completely different person than the shy, retiring woman Shelagh had first met - now competent and, if not talkative, willing to make conversation. Her anecdotes from being a district nurse kept the Nurses and Nuns in hysterics at lunchtime, while Jane sat there smiling shyly. Taking inspiration from Nonnatus, she had decided to train in midwifery in order to boost their numbers, and it was nearly a year now since she'd completed her training. Shelagh knew Patrick was somewhat apprehensive about such a newly qualified midwife treating his wife, but trusting in Shelagh's judgement, he had remained quiet. Now, as Jane took out her pinard and gently felt around the bump, Shelagh held her breath. Her worries were still there, although lessened slightly by Patrick's reassurance, but it would be good to hear it from Jane as well.

But she received no such comfort. Jane froze in place, listening through the pinard, and then she lifted it up and tried another area. Shelagh's heart rushed to her mouth, and she felt her blood run cold as Jane frowned. Trying to keep her voice calm she asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Jane looked up at her, eyes wide and slightly panicked.

"Nothing's wrong, don't worry. I'm just going to go and fetch Cynthia to help me with something."

And with that she left quickly, still carrying the pinard.

Shelagh felt like crying. Everything seemed to have been going so well, and now this! Whatever it was, there must be something wrong for Jane to look like that. Something they hadn't noticed, something Shelagh had missed - oh God, she thought, what if the baby has died? Please Lord, please, please don't let the baby have died. She ran through the week since the last check up swiftly. The baby was kicking yesterday, she knew that much - specifically because it had aimed the kick at Patrick's ear. They had both laughed hysterically. That seemed so long ago now. Surely everything couldn't have gone so wrong in a day?

Cynthia walked in with Jane behind her, and came round to the side of the bed.

"Don't worry Shelagh, there's nothing wrong. Jane just wants me to check something."

Shelagh looked at the pair. "You can tell me what's happened. I need to know."

"I will," Cynthia said, "as sure as I'm sure."

Cynthia bent down with the pinard, and, as Jane had, listened through it on one area of Shelagh's stomach. Then, frowning, she moved the pinard to another area. Finally she tried one last time before straightening up and looking Shelagh in the eyes.

"What is it?" she whispered. "Is the baby dead?"

"No Shelagh." Cynthia replied, her eyes twinkling suddenly. "Both babies are very much alive and kicking."

Patrick and Timothy sat in front of her with their jaws hanging open.

"Twins?" Patrick said finally, breaking the silence.

"Twins." Shelagh confirmed.

"I'm going to have two siblings?" Timothy asked, mouth still gaping.

"Indeed you are. Now eat up that Shepherd's pie before it gets cold." Shelagh replied.

Timothy grinned at her before returning to his dinner.

"But how did Jane not realise? You're nearly 8 months gone!" Patrick said, frowning.

"She just missed one of the heartbeats I think - it's easily done. I didn't realise it was twins either Patrick, and I have a lot more experience then she does."

"Yes, but she should have noticed! You're pregnant, you couldn't very well inspect yourself. That's a basic error!"

Shelagh held his hand across the table and looked him in the eyes. "She feels awful about not realising sooner Patrick, and I completely understand why she didn't. We've all done it, and she's new at this anyway! There's no harm done, and both babies are doing well."

Patrick nodded, placated. "Will she still be your midwife?"

"No" Shelagh said shaking her head, "she doesn't feel she has enough experience to deal with twins, so Cynthia's going to take over - possibly with one of the Nuns to help."

Patrick smiled at her. "It's such a pity that Nurse Turner can't be there. She' be the perfect midwife for the job, she's the best one I know."

Shelagh smiled back at him, blushing slightly.

"Twins." he said wonderingly. Then: "We're going to need another crib."

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**As ever, thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	13. Chapter 13

**So this is the chapter. The big one. I did my best with technical stages but please forgive me for any inaccuracies! I hope you enjoy it!**

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It didn't start the way she was expecting. The slight pains, starting around six AM seemed normal, and as Shelagh plodded downstairs to make Patrick and Timothy's breakfasts she thought nothing of them. In fact, her knees were the greater concern, as they creaked and groaned with every movement. It wasn't for another few hours that Shelagh even noticed.

It was two weeks since she'd been put on leave.

"With twins, you can't risk any health problems. Your safety, and the safety of the babies, must be our main priority." Sister Julienne had said as Shelagh boiled the kettle in the Kitchen during a busy clinic. "How long were you planning to work for?"

Shelagh frowned slightly at her cup of tea, nursing it in her hands as she turned to face the Sister. "I hadn't really planned, I thought just - until it wasn't feasible any more. Chummy managed to work until the last minute, after all, and most of the women in Poplar do no different."

"Most of the women in Poplar are not expecting twins, nor have they recently recovered from tuberculosis. Would you consider starting your holiday on Friday?"

Shelagh gawped. "This Friday? Three days away?"

Sister Julienne nodded.

"But that's so soon! What about my patients? How would Nonnatus manage with one Nurse less?" Shelagh protested.

"Nurse Turner, everything will be taken care of, you needn't worry. Please - at least talk it over with your husband tonight?"

Shelagh had nodded, expecting that Patrick would agree with her plan of staying on, but to her surprise -and consternation- he agreed with Sister Julienne instead.

"But Patrick, Friday?" she asked, curled up next to him on the sofa as he subconsciously rested his hand on the bump.

"At least you'd have time to rest and get prepared." he pointed out. "Twins will take it out of you."

"Yes, but -"

"Your patients?" he said, smiling down at her.

"Yes." she muttered.

This was one of the many reasons he loved her, Patrick reflected to himself. She was a born healer, who wanted nothing more than to help others. He had no doubt that if she thought a woman needed an arm to help her through labour Shelagh would give one of her own and soldier on. Her life revolved around others, yet she was a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Someone had to be there to stop her from giving herself entirely, and it was a position he was willing to take.

"They will be looked after my darling, the Nurses will all pull together. I really think this could be a good idea - you'll get the rest you need. It's not as though you could cycle with that bump anyway."

Shelagh chuckled at this, against her will.

"I know what your patients mean to you," he continued, "and I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't think it was the best option. What are you thinking?"

Shelagh looked up at him. "This Friday?"

He nodded.

She stroked the bump and looked around their living room. The walls were a light shade of blue, one of her favourite colours. Timothy had left one of his encyclopaedias on the floor, open to a page on butterflies. On the fireplace their photographs stood proudly in their silver frames. This was her home, and soon it would have two more inhabitants. This was where her family - and her heart - lived. She owed it to them to be careful. Maybe this was the best thing she could do for them.

Shelagh nodded in reply. "This Friday. I'll tell Sister Julienne in the morning."

They had a great leaving party for her, with all her favourite cakes cooked by Mrs B - Cherry and Almond Sponge, Coconut Cream, and a glorious Victoria Sponge Timothy had helped with (as he told her proudly). Shelagh remembered this, and the laughing faces of her colleagues as she stared out the window for the tenth time that week. Being on leave, with nothing to do but tidy (the house was spotless), prepare (the nursery was pristine) and plan (a new double pram rested proudly in the hall). Being on leave was stultifying.

So when the pains got stronger, Shelagh took more notice. But still, there was a floor to clean and curtains to air, and it wasn't until two o'clock that afternoon when she sat down that Shelagh realised exactly how strong these pains were. For a second she felt panic, then caught herself. It could be Braxton-Hicks, she'd had plenty of those the past few weeks. But half an hour more of sitting on the sofa breathing heavily convinced her that this wasn't mere Braxton-Hicks, and she carefully raised herself up. The home phone was normally strictly only for Patrick's use, but she felt her use was certainly justified. Picking up the phone, she dialled.

"Nonnatus House, midwife speaking?"

"Hello, Trixie? I think I'm in labour."

"Shelagh!" said Trixie, "is that you?"

"Last time I checked." Shelagh replied, grimacing slightly as she clutched the table.

"I'll send Cynthia round, she's first on call anyway. Are you planning to go into the Hospital?"

"Yes, I think that was the plan."

"Good. Cynthia will be round shortly. See you soon!" Trixie said, and Shelagh put the phone down as another wave overtook her.

She made her way slowly - and carefully - upstairs, and began the process of getting the bed ready, just in case. When it was done, she changed from her loose cotton dress into an old nightdress - no point in ruining good clothes after all, she thought.

As she finished Cynthia came in.

"Mrs Turner? Shelagh?" she called, and Shelagh smiled at her indecision on titles.

"I'm upstairs." she called, lowering herself down onto the bed. As Cynthia entered, she smiled at her. "I think we're far enough for just Shelagh now."

Cynthia nodded, smiling, and began assessing her. "I think you're in the first stage of labour Shelagh, but you've been going a while. You're about 5 centimetres dilated."

"What about the maternity hospital?" Shelagh asked, before she was hit by another contraction.

"I think it would be a good idea to move you there, just so there are Doctors nearby. With twins you can never be too careful. I'll go and call Dr Turner to tell him now, and then the ambulance crew."

So it was that Shelagh found herself lying on a bed in the maternity hospital an hour later, dressed in white with bright lights all around her. Cynthia was by her side, holding her wrist to check her pulse as she moaned through another contraction.

"Good good - everything's progressing just as normal Shelagh. You're seven centimetres now - not far to go."

"Where's - Patrick?" she moaned, before grabbing the sides of the bed and breathing heavily.

"He's just coming, but he won't be able to be in the room with you." Cynthia replied.

"I know - that, but - I just want to see him!" she grunted, before crying out at the strength of the pain.

Patrick flew through the doors shortly after, his tie pulled sideways and his hair a bird's nest. His bag only had one of the buckles done up and the end of his stethoscope was hanging out. The hurry with which he had left his surgery was evident, even though it was just a short walk away. Sister Julienne followed, more serenely but still at a distinct jog.

"Darling, how are you?" Patrick asked, grabbing her hand.

"I'm - ticketyboo." she replied, before raising an eyebrow and moaning again.

"I'm sorry Dr Turner, but you'll have to leave." Sister Julienne said, catching up with him.

"I know, I will do." he said, before turning to Shelagh. "You are amazing, do you know that? The most beautiful, kind, considerate woman in the world and you chose me. You showed more courage than I've seen grown men do and you can do it again. I have faith in you Shelagh, you can do this."

She could say nothing in response, but squeezed his hand, hoping that would be enough of an answer. He leant down and kissed it on her wedding ring and then leaned over and kissed her forehead as well. "I love you." he whispered.

"I love you too, Patrick." she said, and with one final smile he left.

"He'll be just outside." Sister Julienne reassured her.

"I know."she replied. "He wouldn't leave me."

Two hours later Cynthia pronounced her fully dilated.

"You can start pushing now, and we'll get the first baby delivered soon."

Shelagh moaned at this and then cried out as another contraction came. "I can't do this!" she cried.

"Yes you can," came the steady response from Sister Julienne, "I'm right here. Patrick is outside and you have Cynthia to look after you. You are strong Shelagh, and you are brave. You can do this."

"But I'm scared!"

"There is always something to be scared of Shelagh. The trick is to understand that and carry on anyway. God will provide."

"Come on Shelagh - the first baby is nearly delivered. Push down!" she distantly heard Cynthia say, and with all her strength, she pushed.

There was silence.

Then a cry, high and bouncing through the room. She could vaguely see the baby being passed to another Nurse to clean before the pain in her abdomen tore her attention away.

"Once more Shelagh!" Cynthia said.

"I haven't got anything left!" she cried.

"You can do this Shelagh. Focus." said Sister Julienne next to her, and with every ounce of her strength, with her every thought and the sheer formidable force of her determination, Shelagh pushed.

Another cry broke the air, and another baby was taken away to be cleaned up. Sister Julienne walked over as Cynthia prepared for the afterbirth. She brought one baby over while a Nurse form the hospital carried the other.

"My dear Shelagh, you have a boy and a little girl." she said, placing a baby in each arm.

Shelagh looked down at them. "You're here," she whispered to them, looking at their tiny creased faces and shell like ears, and feeling her heart break with love for them. "I'll never let you go. You're safe, my darlings. Always safe. I'm here."

Patrick came in a moment later to see his wife sitting up in bed, her face wet with tears as she held a baby in each arm. She looked up at him, and for a second he truly believed that she was an angel before him.

"It's a boy and a girl Patrick. Our twins."

He walked over, still dazed, and gently took one of the babies. Its face was screwed up at him and its hands were reaching out the blanket. He gently traced his finger over the tiny fingernails, the lines across the miniature palm, and the crease around the baby's wrist.

"Oh my darlings." he sighed. "You're wonderful."

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**I hope you enjoyed it - as ever, all reviews welcome and encouraged!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry this has been so long coming, but I hope it's worth the wait!**

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It was with a shock that Shelagh woke up. In her mind she had been back in her old bed, back in Nonnatus House. The bed was narrow, the sheets tightly stretched across and stiffly starched. Her heart was aching, as ever, and she had felt alone. It had seemed so real that for a few moments she could do nothing but breathe deeply and compose herself. Worst had been the mirror she could see from the bed. However deeply she stared into it there was something shuttered off in her reflection, something she could not make out. Through all those hours of searching she had worn the carpet in front of it thin, but no matter how hard she looked something was obscured. Only when she took off her wimple was there any relief from the heartache.

But as the feeling of anguish receded another, even more powerful one took its place. Where are my babies? she thought, at first contemplatively, then suddenly, with a jolt of fear animalistic in its intensity. She sat up, slight pain coursing through her as she did so, and looked around the room. The bassinet sat by the bed certainly, but there were no babies within it and no blankets. Wincing, she carefully slid out of bed and walked across the room. Leaning on the banister for support, she made it downstairs slowly. Something prevented her from calling out to Patrick, and she was glad of it when she reached the door to the living room. Looking past it she saw Patrick sitting on the sofa holding one of the twins with more care than she had thought possible. And, sitting next to him and mimicking his gestures was Timothy, also holding a twin. He looked up at the movement, and beamed at her, moving to stand up before he remembered the baby and sat down again.

"Mum!" he cried, and Patrick whipped his head round.

"How are you darling?" he asked, standing up with more grace than his son and walking over.

"I feel fine - a little pain but nothing extraordinary. How are they?" she asked.

"Wonderful, like their mother. Here." he said, and handed her the baby. She could see now the pink ribbon that edged the blanket - but more than that, she could see her daughter's face. Her eyes were wide open and she looked around with bright eyes. Her nose had a familiar look to it she recognised from the man in front of her, and for a few seconds she was choked with emotion.

"She's beautiful." Shelagh finally whispered, still staring.

Timothy stood up and walked over.

"How do you like your brother?" Patrick asked, leaning over to move a corner of the blanket away from the baby's face.

"He's great!" Timothy said, smiling.

"And no greater praise could there be." Patrick said, shaking his head and ruffling Timothy's hair.

Timothy pulled a face at him and turned to Shelagh. "Have you decided on names Mum?" he asked.

She looked at Patrick. "Well, we have a few ideas, but I think it depends on what name they look like. Timothy, we were going to ask - do you have any ideas?"

He looked thoughtful as he handed his brother over to Patrick.

"Well, I like Robert." he said eventually. "That's the name of one of my favourite book characters. I'm not so sure about girls' names though."

Patrick nodded equally thoughtfully, and turned to Shelagh. She looked white as a sheet and, scared, he quickly asked Timothy to fetch her a cup of tea as he guided her over to the sofa.

"What is it?" he asked quietly as the sounds of Timothy clattering the kettle around floated through the house.

"Robert was my father's name. Robert MacDonald. I hadn't even considered it."

Together they looked at the bundle in Patrick's arms.

"Well, I think it has to be Robert, don't you?"

Shelagh sniffed slightly and he looked up to realise she was silently crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked, terrified that there was something she hadn't mentioned, some complication that no one had noticed. His veins flooded with adrenalin and he was ready in an instant to support her if she fainted.

"I'm just - so happy. I didn't know you could be this happy." she stuttered out, and his heart melted all over again. They sat like that for a few minutes as her tears slowed, until finally he looked up again.

"So Robert's decided then. What about his sister?"

The baptism was held - of course - in Nonnatus House. Everyone was there, including Freddie, who had just discovered walking and was keen to practise. Chummy had to hold him through much of the proceedings, every so often dangling the knitted lion in front of him to hold his attention and stop him from toddling down the corridor. Robert went first, with Patrick carefully reciting his name - "Robert James Turner". His sister followed, held by Shelagh, and it was she who announced the much deliberated name to the congregation.

"Julie Rose Turner." she said firmly, and sneaked a look up to see Sister Julienne on the front row, her hand at her mouth as her shoulders shook slightly. Her eyes spoke for her, and Shelagh almost cried herself as she saw the gratitude and pride within them. Next to her Sister Evangelina bawled (all pretence of allergies long gone), and even Sister Monica Joan's eyes were glistening. Jenny, Trixie and Cynthia were covered in smiles, while Jane and her Reverend sat contentedly to the side. Chummy, Peter and Freddie were just next to them, and she could see even from the front that Chummy was holding hands with her policeman. Everyone was content.

Timothy stood by her side, Patrick to the other. Their babies were in their arms, and she was home at last.

Everything was truly wonderful.

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**And that (I think) is the end of Wonderful, Wonderful! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have adored writing it - there is the possibility of a sequel, but I'm heading off to Uni in a month and I don't know whether there'll be time to write as much as I'd like to. I didn't want to leave this unfinished (I hate it when you find amazing but unfinished and unupdated-for-two-years stories), but if I do decide on a sequel I will post a notification here - I promise. **

**So with that, goodbye - any reviews are, as ever, as welcome as a large chocolate chip muffin on a bad day, a cup of tea in the morning, or a Turnadette wedding at Christmas. Thank you, and goodnight! (...for now.)**


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